


Welcome Home

by okaynextcrisis



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 22:48:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2043192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaynextcrisis/pseuds/okaynextcrisis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura moves back in.  Missing scene between Disquiet and The Oath.  (And sort-of postscript to Just a Little Longer.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome Home

It hadn't taken long.

Laura didn't own much, after all. Her clothes, her books, her files and folders…it was everything she owned in the universe, and it only took her Marines two trips to empty her small room and deposit it all in the Admiral's quarters.

The thought should have depressed Bill; all of her worldly possessions, and they took up no room at all, fit neatly into four boxes. Instead, he was relieved…no, he was downright  _giddy_. He had Laura back. Earth was a wasteland, the fleet was eating itself alive, they were all probably doomed…and Laura was back home.

He couldn't stop smiling.

When he'd left Laura unpacking in his—no, in  _their_  quarters—to take up his long-delayed shift in CIC, he was still smiling.

He had to keep reminding himself to keep his stern Admiral face on, all through his shift.

Hours later, he eased open the hatch to his—no, to  _their_  quarters—to dimmed lights and silence. It was late, after all; Laura must have already gone to bed.

He knew he shouldn't wake her. She needed her rest.

He slipped past his rack, with its Laura-shaped lump under the blankets, and into the head. The darkness didn't bother him; he could walk this path drunk, blindfolded, in his sleep.

"Bill?"

Damn. And he'd thought he'd been so careful.

"I'll be right out," he called. "I'm just going to take a quick shower …"

He turned the light on—and then stopped short. He wasn't going to take a shower. He couldn't possibly. There wasn't room.

Laura's things had taken over the small space: her towel hung beside his; her wig and hairbrush and headscarves dominated the space by the sink; her various tubes and brushes filled the cabinet behind the mirror; his robe, always hung from its hook on the wall, was conspicuously absent.

When Laura had moved in the first time, they'd both been so  _careful_ : polite, considerate, respectful of each other's space. This was…

Well, it was  _different_.

Shaking his head, Bill went for his razor. At least he still knew where that was.

His hand, reaching for his razor, missed, and knocked her lipstick off the edge of the sink, the tiny tube noisily hitting the tile floor and rolling out of sight. He bent to pick it up and hit his head on the stand holding Laura's wig. His hands went up, automatically, to steady it, before it fell—and sent her hairbrush flying, hitting the floor with a loud crack.

"Frak," he hissed. Laura had only been here a few hours, and already he'd made a mess of her things. This was  _not_  the impression he'd been hoping to make. If he could just get this all cleaned up before she…

"Did you say something?"

Laura leaned against the doorjamb, her head bare, her body wrapped in his robe.

Bill couldn't stop the grin spreading across his face.

She was home.

They were both home.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Bill and Laura own me, not the other way around.


End file.
